What Falls in Autumn [Reky]

Samael stretched out her arm where she had bashed it against Naireth's skull that Fall. A quick move had saved their skins, but feeding firestone to a toothy face right at the exact moment hadn't helped anything.

There was a corner of the tiny room tucked in next to Samael's bedroom that was dedicated to soot. Sometimes she swept it clean, but it was a necessary spot of evil. The Falls had her shaking out her gear and her hair to produce enough black silt to fuel a foul sandstorm. They always left her feeling grimy, and that was what the lake was for - but in the ever-colder autumn months, she was increasingly reluctant to to put in the effort to get down there. Naireth hung about the edge of the weyr, ordered not to track ash too far in. The dragon would not leave to bathe purely of her own will.

Q'sis words, through Unath, came through Naireth to Samael fluidly. By now, everything that came from the younger tan was relayed without a second thought; even, sometimes, Samael would get something that wasn't meant for her. The second bit made the woman rider smile, and she passed a reply through the dirty, hulking beast on the weyrledge. Faranth, you know me too well. Food after a Fall? Simply the best. Hold on.

She threw on a loose tunic - brightly embroidered about the collar, a token from her homehold - and the first clean breeches she found. She was glad to be in clean clothing, though her face was still smudged with black where her goggles hadn't been. Naireth was freed of her leathers and Sam's feet were trapped in their boots, and the pair was off into the air. It was only a few wingstrokes before the tan latched to the ledge of Q'sis' weyr. Samael left her and kicked off her boots. Go bathe, she told the dragon, and coughed as Naireth sent up a cloud of soot in leaving.

She padded barefoot to Q'sis' room and her feet thanked her for it. Her whole body was very glad to be free of the protective layer it had inhabited for six hours, and it had not yet started to feel sore - except for her arm. She stretched it out as she came in to see him, and smiled to smell the stench of fire there.

"Hello, dirty man," she laughed, smudging her fingers against whatever streaks had gotten onto his face. With him sitting on the bed, she was much closer to his height, and touched her forehead to his. "Feed me," she demanded, and then did notice the bed. "Oh, this is new!" She left him and rubbed her fingers clean on her breeches so that she may touch a rich wood bedpost. "You and your fancy things."

Samael smiled. She found that she did an awful lot of that around Q'sis. There were times when he irritated her, naturally, being that he was so sure in his ways and so dominant, but such was any relationship. His humour had developed a very warm spot in her heart, though, and she was grateful to be able to spend time in welcome company after a strenuous Threadfall. She turned and leaned against the bedpost, watching his back as he rummaged through his stash of lovely dinner.

It always amused her to think of Naireth as a reason for renown and riches. Aside from being the first tan, the dragon was more a servant than a queen. Probably, though, the best dragon to have around expensive things, because Sam could simply say 'never touch any of this ever' and Naireth would obey completely. She pictured a weyr full of fine china and looking glasses with Naireth situated serenely in the center. It was a big change from the woman's actual weyr where she had yet to go on her sevendayly cleaning spree.

"Maybe I'll start investing," she smirked. "Naireth and I can amass a queenly horde to rival yours." The idea was all in joking and promptly forgotten at the sight of food. She moved forward to relieve Q'sis of the pie, but she was relieved of it faster. She wrinkled her face in mock indignation. "You tease," she huffed. Her stomach was pining at the scent of food and it was almost embarrassing; but Q'sis knew her voracious habits.

The berry was a poor substitute for a main course, but it did look like a very good berry. "Of course -- we're fine," she said. Then amended, "Well, I might have bruised my arm. Smacked it into Naireth's face, that's all." Leaning in, she made to nip at the berry - gently, so as not to bite her favourite fingers that held it. Hopefully the answer was satisfactory, but Q'sis' worry was sometimes an unpredictable thing.

The berry was good, as were Q'sis' lips. She smiled into them. "Oh, she was very good, and that was the problem." Just an ill-timed dodge. Or, rather, well-time for the sake of their skins; ill for Samael's squishy human arm.

The offending smudge of ash received its due idle brushing, and she perched on the proffered chair. She was more than happy to obey his command, and took a first, savoury bite of the pie he had so kindly gotten for her. "You could get a nice little one," she mentioned after swallowing. "That fits in the corner." Space was a precious commodity not to be eaten up by large tables. Or, at least, not in her opinion. Her room was smaller than Q'sis', though, which she hadn't really paid much mind to until now. There would be no proper table for her.

She set the Tillek aside with an obedient smile and continued to work on her dinner, but reclaimed it to take down a tiny sip. "Oh," she said, "I think I've always been able to. Never had much used for it. I actually thought any dragon could do it, but-- the tans. It makes sense, since they aren't really very eloquent on their own." She took another, tinier sip. "I just order her - you know, just a little mind-push - to copy me word-for-word. You know how Naireth is." And she thought about that one for a moment with her fork swishing in the air. "Bet it's a little bit different for you guys."

She heard the familiar timbre of Unath's voice, and reached out briefly to her own tan. She found Naireth's placid presence afloat on the lake, and the smaller telepathic blip of little black Balto's brain resting on her head. Samael remembered that he was due for oiling, but it could wait til morning. She sent him a quick flicker of a rising sun and oil, and he cheeped - but he probably didn't understand. At least his tiny mind had been swiftly trained to keep with Naireth when she was with Q'sis.

"Understandable is good." Sam was doing considerable but well-paced damage to her food. It felt intensely satisfying to get something in her stomach after having her energy sapped by the Fall. She stretched her legs under the desk, feeling the beginnings of stiffness in them, and set down her fork to pay Q'sis and her Tillek some more intimate attention.

Sam, what with the food, affection, and familiar company, was beginning to settle into her typical, post-Fall slump. A vague sleepiness was beginning to wash over her, the sort that made her just want to lie around in Q'sis' bed and nothing else. She felt his hands wander through her hair and down her arm - (he would feel a spot of warmth on her forearm where she'd hit it, but no true bruise had formed yet) - and smiled into her fork.

"I'll just tell her to come," she said. She added a little 'mm' of acknowledgement to that, because she could always use sleep - but she could hold it off for good things. Tipping back her glass, she finished off the last of her Tillek and set the remnants of her meal neatly aside. She was pleasantly warm as she shuffled over to the bed with the bottle in her hand. She set it on the bedside table. Q'sis was made a landing pad and Samael crawled over him, snagging a kiss before nestling against his side.

A relieved sigh tugged it slow way out of her lungs. "Shells," she mused. "This is a very nice bed. You have good taste in beds." Then she grinned and wiggled herself about so she could lean in to kiss him again and play with his helmet hair.

With the scent of the sweet amber oil and the role Q'sis took upon, Sam was rendered blushed and grinning. She laughed, held him against her; let the doctor examine her arm and told him how he knew so much more than her, because she thought it was just a bruise! Faranth save her! And there was only so long that she could stand the remnants of his flightsuit.

---

She woke under the richness of Q'sis' fine blankets, kept warm and humid against the stark coldness of the night. Naireth was perched chilly upon the weyrledge, for Samael had told her to come and not to come in. The woman stirred under Q'sis' light touch, still yet too sleepy to properly shiver. Her eyes opened into the hollow of his neck.

"What time is it?" she breathed, surprised at how easily she had woken. She suspected it was the cause of the fight between the cold of the room and the warmth of the blankets that had kept her slumber shallow; or perhaps she had been dreaming, but she could not remember what of. She supposed it didn't matter. It could be any time of the day and she would still allow herself extra sleep. She had worked hard the day before.

In the disorienting quietness of said two-and-a-quarter, Samael pried herself off of the flat of the bed and sat, drawing one of the thinner blankets up around her shoulders. She was still drowsy; the newly-opened glow made it easy for her eyes to stay resolutely open, but her mind was still slow. Q'sis moved about the bed and the bath, but Sam wouldn't be truly rising for a while. At two-and-a-quarter, she was perfectly allowed to take her time.

The silence was a mainly comfortable sort. It was tainted, however, by the tension she felt - or maybe she imagined it - from Q'sis, and the strangeness of waking at two-and-a-quarter and not going back to bed. She had a great respect and gratefulness for Q'sis' obsessive hygiene, but less so at this hour. She yawned; tugged a splay of fingers through her hair. It was growing a little long as of late and a little more tangled.

Q'sis question came in to her, skirting on the sound waves of the flowing water. It concerned her. A happier tone in his voice would have invited a happier response from her. Instead, she knitted her brows and issued an ambiguous 'mmm,' potentially too quiet for him to hear, but she didn't care. She was tired and he was starting to get confusing.

When he returned, she tipped back over onto her side and suctioned up against him. She let her eyes close, as if better to take his mysterious answer (mysterious in that it clearly wasn't "so that I may bed you upon it"). For the Flight - that made sense. She knew the insanity that came with dragonlust, and could understand how rude it must be for the female's human to take a substitute. She recalled the poor, virgin F'ton - and felt a little sorry for him.

The second half of his answer was more concerning. For Valha? For Valha why? For her to sleep in on occasion? Was she having enough difficulties with Mith that she ought to be watched overnight? Sleepover? Was it for him to lie in with him? A sickness caught in Samael's gut. But why? Why Valha? Why anyone else? And if he had bought a bed for Valha, why hadn't he bought one for her? She banished the petty, selfish thought. She liked Valha well enough, of course, but not quite that well.

"For Valha?" she murmured, her lips slow in the early morning. She sought very, very clear clarification. He could not simply say 'for Valha' without explaining why.